I hope the zipper on your jacket get stuck, And your headphones short, and your charger don't work, And you spill shit on your shirt. I hope it's Ben and Socrates poop all up in your kitchen. I hope you win the lottery and lose your ticket. I hope you never get off Fridays, And you work at a Friday's that's always busy on Fridays. I hope there's always snow in your driveway. I hope your titties all saggy in your early twenties. I hope your dreams dry like raisins in the bakin' sun. I hope every soda you drink already shaken up. I hope you get a paper cut on your tongue From a razor in a paper cup. Why you always all on my back? Why you gotta do me like that? Why you gotta act like a bitch when I'm with you? Baby girl, I'm blue. I'm not exactly flawless, but I'm gorgeous just like a horse is, I know the thought of me succeedin' makes a lot of people nauseous, Still I'm on the back of the boat takin' pictures with the swordfish. I'm gettin' topped off in the front row of the opera, As Bocelli sings, the celly rings, I gotta go, you'll never know how good it feels to lay in bed with king. Go on a date, I'm at the crib with the chef and uh, that's me, And you could order whatever, The specialty is white snake and underwear sauce, You could probably catch me somewhere where the sun is next And I understand that's only ‘cause I'm popular. Some would say that I'm the symbol for sex, and Others would hate, but I don't give 'em no breath. So many women wanna call me baby, And you wonder why the fuck that I ain't call you lately. Wait till this chick see me on TV, I make the shit look easy, Who would've thought I hit you right back? Why you always all on my back? Why you gotta do me like that? Why you gotta act like a bitch when I'm with you? Baby girl, I'm blue. There were times I used to hide my feelings, Now I'm butt-naked in the Lamborghini, And mothafuckas can't see me. All your childish attempts to make me angry fall short, Which only fuels the rage you have, because you have nothing Understandable I'm shinin' brilliant with five Brazilians. Things change, now my dashboard wooden, All black Benz like a young Doc Gooden, Dark shades, ‘cause I'm stone crazy, Girl, we grown, stop playin' on my phone, baby. Because you treat me like shit, I paid for the bed and never even slept in it, I paid for that crib I never stepped foot in, And now somebody else is eatin' all the pudding.
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